Canon Keepers II: Gary Stu Season
by JealousOfTheMoon
Summary: A Gary Stu. A Marty Sam. What's the difference? Two Canon Keepers answer this question and learn a lot in the process. General hilarity and mocking of Male OC's. Sequel to 'The Canon Keepers.' NOW DESCRIPTIFIED.


**The Canon Keepers II **

_or_ **Gary Stu Season **

_or _**The Difference Between a Gary Stu and a Marty Sam and the Pitifully Idiotic Nature of Both Regardless **

**II. **

_The Fall/Winter seasons set in, and soon it becomes Gary Stu Season at the Canon Keepers, Inc. The resemblance between "Gary Stu Season" and "deer season" (as well as the coinciding times) is purely unintentional. Purely. _

_First, there are classes. The purpose of these classes is to train aspiring Canon Keepers. Most of these are Canon Members; however, occasionally we get the ignoramus who was looking for a job at the camera company and accidentally applied here. The shock is rather hideous when he finds he has to go through a year of training which concerns…well, the best thing to do is simply show you. _

_Professor Kirke gives us one example of such training as he leads his 'Basic Information for Canon-Keeping-Wannabes" class (he's a rather blunt chap; none of that 'potential employee' rot). _

_We join the good Professor mid-monologue—er, class period. _

"…and you should have read the account of the timeless court battle: Canon vs. Canon. That was when the camera company attempted to sue our company for alleged theft of copyrighted material. Blighters couldn't prove anything against us, so the whole thing was a draw," Professor Kirke adjusted his glasses and coughed slightly. "Hence our corporation today is called 'Canon Keepers' to prevent further confusion; such was our compromise. You might have noticed that the writer of this account has a solid (albeit cheeky) sense of humor, as shown by his use of terms to describe the Canon vs. Canon case. For instance, he says "the case was one of the most **explosive** known to either company..." and makes other various references to the "caliber" of the companies' attorneys, frequent allusions to the jury's "biting the bullet" and the judge's sentence incurring a "ceasefire." There never was such a stir in our corporation since—unless it might be the time a 'Sue escaped security back in '97 and wrought havoc in the Warriors Division. Damsels"—here he furrowed his brow—"should _never _be dealt with in the Warriors (male) Division. Nor should Warrioresses, nor any females outside of Canon's characters, for that matter. Now, any questions?"

_One or two sighs of relief are heard from the audience; when Professor Kirke asks for questions, this generally means the lecture is almost over. _

A boy who bears an uncanny resemblance to Eustace Clarence Before He Was Undragoned calls out, "I don't see why _you_ should do _all_ the talking, while _we_—Ow! Oy! I say! Stop it! Rather uncalled for, that! Hoy!"

A Mouse wearing a small red and gold jacket that says "SECURITY" on the back brandishes a rapier threateningly as the Rude Boy rubs his stinging arm. "Uncalled for, eh? Any more cheek from you and I'll give you pain in your backside to match the one in your arm!"

"Heeey! Make him _stop_ already! What _is_ he, anyway?" The Rude Boy began to whine.

The Professor shrugged and says simply, "Security. You _might_ tone it down a bit, Reep."

"He _might—_a _bit—?_!!" the Boy spluttered. "Barmy Narnians!"

The Mouse bowed to the Professor. "Sir, might I suggest a more apt solution to this – ahem – problem. For instance, an hour long session with Dr. Scrubb on _Dragon-like Characteristics and the Curing Thereof?_"

"Excellent," the Professor said. "Take him away at once."

"Hoy—what are you _doing_ with me?—I'll call the British Consul!"

"Hmm…" the Professor mused. "The resemblance between him and Professor Scrubb really is most unusual…" His attention shifted back to the class before him. "Take out workbooks and turn to page Exercise 12.8, _What To Do About Intelligence In Your OC_?

_Now let us go have a look at training being put to work. The finest examples of Canon Keepers – at least in the _Narnia _department – are the two we will visit next. They went through no training; indeed, personal interest guides their decisions and they do rather well at it. _

**On the 2nd Floor…**

_Two young men are shuffling through paperwork, looking rather unenthusiastic about it. _

The first young man sighs. "I wish we had some _real_ work here."

"Paperwork…rotten paperwork," the second young man grumbles. "Nothing but rot—I say!"

"What?" The first chap queries. The second chap appears to be having some trouble speaking, so he says rather sharply, "For Pete's sake—no pun intended, blasted American sayings—cough it up, Ed!"

"_Someone's just come in!"_ Ed hisses gleefully.

_Enter two clients. At first they appear to be simply regular, Male OCs. But a closer glance reveals that one is very buff, very broad-shouldered, and a __human__ – while the other is more disposed to be of a slender quality and is – in fact – a __faun__. _

"By Jove!" The first man said, whose name was really Peter.

"Couldn't be any better…" Edmund grinned with a semi-maniacal glint in his eye.

_Both restrain themselves from rubbing their hands together and chuckling evilly, and resume a businesslike pose. Perhaps they like their work a bit too well. _

The Human-Oc puffs his chest out. "Yo! Hey, could you, like, give us some attention here?" he drawls in what is meant to be a hunkylicious tone of voice.

_Allow me to interject here. Human OCs – especially of the standard type, which this one is – have a tendency to speak with an overly-loud and overly-confident manner. While there's nothing wrong with speaking up every now and then and having confidence, there is something wrong with opening your mouth so wide that you can see down the esophagus, with having a strut and a swagger with every step you take, and taking such pleasure in your own very stupid words that you think everyone else has to hear what you have to say. Of course, doing this _every time _you have _anything_ to say doesn't help either. _

The Faun OC—being of a different makeup than a typical Human one—merely assumed a mournful pose. Because everyone knows that fauns are Emo and that's what makes them so attractive.

Peter mutters "don't look too eager; we want to secure this business" to Edmund and then, striking a nonchalantly bored pose, addresses the applicants. "What…oh, well, we're _very_ busy here, you see, and I don't know if we could handle…

"But _perhaps," _Edmund jumps in, yawning with impeccable timing,_ "_just perhaps, mind you, we could do _something…"_

"Sure, like, look at my papers, or something. He struts over to Peter's desk and shoves his papers in face of aforementioned Keeper.

The Faun-OC timidly handed his papers to Edmund and began silently crying when Edmund frowns at them.

"Hmm…" Peter scanned his set of papers without really reading them. "I see…well…tsk-tsk…

Edmund glances over the faun's papers. "Eh…well, this seems to be…"

Suddenly, a remarkable change overcomes Edmund. His eyes swell to three times their size, his face grows crimson, and his hand flies to the place where his sword should be resting. All the while his mouth works furiously and a stream of enraged babble comes forth. "Eeerrgh…aaghh…bluggh…noo…gaaahhh!"

Peter drops his papers and stares at Edmund in shock. "Ed, what is it?!"

"Ohh—errgh—for PETE'S SAKE!" Edmund hollers.

"Yes, for Pete's sake – that is, _my_ sake, and I am _tired_ of all this punning on my name – will you stop babbling and tell me?!"

"Look—look—the paper—it's insufferable—unpardonable—!"

"I guess they don't call you Edmund the _Just_ for nothing," Peter groans. He picks up papers, reads, and promptly turns green. "I get your point, Ed. But keep it down—these two have egos as tall as skyscrapers and heads twice as thick, emo or not, but they'll pick up on our displeasure too quickly, and that isn't any _fun."_

At which point Edmund performed the amazing stunt known as Gag Inwardly But Keep Your Composure At The Same Time. (It's very difficult and most people have to take an entire class before they begin to master never took the class and thus he is known as THE Inward Gagger With Proper Outward Composure, World Class… this explains why any conversation with Young Keepers at the mention of E. Pevensie immediately runs the following way: "…blah blah blah…Edmund Pevensie—"…"—_gasp!_ You mean THE Inward Gagger With Proper Outward Composure, World Class?!"…_sigh._ "Yes." And then you never get another word in edgewise.)

Anyway, they both turn back to the OCs, and the following is spoken rapidly with no hesitation. Clearly these two work together often, not to mention are blood relatives. The first one to speak is Peter.

"Your cases are—"

"—interesting—"

"—and while we appreciate the effort—"

"—they really don't—"

"—make the cut," Peter finishes.

The Faun-OC begins to weep, sobbing "I knew it! Let's leave! Right away!"

Unfortunately, Human-OCs with egos the size of the Chrysler building (and that's being kind about it) are not so easily swayed. "Now HOLD ON here a MINUTE!" Our current example of Male-OC-ness bellows loudly. "What do you MEAN, I _don't make the cut?!"_

Peter and Edmund smirk at him.

Apparently this causes considerable offense. "I don't like being smirked at. Do you know who I am? I am Garrison Stuart the MMMMMMMMMCMCCCCCCCCLXXXXXXXXVIIII," cries the OC, "and I _demand_ a full explanation!"

"Oh, you do, do you?" Peter continues to smirk.

"That's rich from a guy who can't even count as high as his title," Edmund mutters.

"Well…like…YEAH." Garrison Stuart pronounced proudly, finding this an impressive comeback.

Edmund turns to the weeping faun and promptly chokes. With some difficulty he manages to ask "what is your name?"

"Martin Samuels," the faun whimpers. "I hate life!"

"A Marty Sam!" Edmund says wonderingly. "And a Gary Stu! Both at once! D'you know, I've never gotten the chance to make a personal experience-based comparison. Perhaps this is just the topic for that paper I need to get a promotion!"

Peter rolls his eyes. "Ladder climber," he tosses in Edmund's direction before turning his attention to the dud—I mean stud before him. "Garrison Stuart, do you truly wish to be made aware of the charges I as a lawful Canon Keeper could rightfully level against you?"

"Look, dude, I'm not going to stand for any more of this jazz, 'kay?" Garrison drawls. "Now, tell me the problem, and I'll, you know, like, fix it. Or somethin'."

"It's the _or something_ which should concern you…" Peter mutters, then says aloud: "Well, O fine specimen of a Gary Stu-pidness," here he chuckles briefly at his own joke, "here on your chart we read that you are interested primarily in Susan."

"Yeah, well, like, between you and me," Gary whispers, shooting a quick glance at the sniffling faun, "it's like, you know, I'd take Lucy if Susan didn't care for me, except for like Mr. Marty over here – he don't like me, you know, saying that. It makes him, you know, like, depressed."

Edmund turns to the faun in feigned surprise. "You're interested in _Lucy?!" _

"Yes, but I could never have her," Marty says mournfully. "She is a bright shining sun, while I am merely a raincloud. She is warmth, I am cold. She is loving, I am unlovable. She is beautiful, I am—"

"I … get the idea," Edmund says quickly. A sudden urge to vomit overtakes him but he quells it. (Yeah. He didn't have to take the class on that either.)

"One thing at a time. Mr. Sam, will you please hold your peace while I lambaste—er, handle the situation here with Mr. Stu?"

"Of course," Mr. Samuels responds. "I am a most inadequate candidate, of course, but nevertheless my love for the Valiant Queen—" but here he is cut off by Ed stuffing a roll of tape into his mouth.

"Sorry 'bout that, Old chap," Edmund says cheerfully, patting the wide-eyed 'Sam on the back, "but my sense of justice didn't like the way you were beating down my intelligence. You stay quiet, and I remove the tape. Comprende?"

Marty gives an unintelligible (yet mournful) gurgle. Ed removes the tape. Marty stays quiet. Ed grins at him. Marty looks about to cry.

Peter clears his throat. "Garrison Stuart."

"Duude," he respondes.

Peter winces. "Ah…Garrison Stuart, your…ah…credentials state that you have many years training in martial arts. It also says you communicate frequently with the birds and beasts and the…_groan_…flowers and trees. You seem to set great pride in this."

"I heard from somebody—I mean, based on my like personal knowledge and endless stores of facts and the wonderful ability to recall them on split second notice," (read: Google) "I discerned that Narnia is a like place where like animals run loose and like you need to know about how they like talk.

"Well, actually, they speak like ordinary humans do." Peter speaks as though to a five-year-old, although based on the Stu's slightly dumbfounded expression the words "actually" and "ordinary" were almost too much to handle.

"Whaaa…?" the Stu drools, then recollects himself. "…I mean, I know, but like I thought it would look like cool or somethin'."

"Well, it certainly is…an interesting "or something"." Peter responds mildly. The 'Stu puffs out his well-bench-pressed chest, and Peter cringes. "_Please_ don't do that. Now—about seeking the hand of Queen Susan. Let me be blunt. Do you realize the near impossibility of my sister even considering you as a potential suitor?"

"Um, Peter?" Edmund interjects. "He doesn't or he wouldn't be here."

"Ah. Right." Peter rejoins briskly. "Thanks for that. Never mind. Let me get to the point here, Mr. Stu. We have high standards here, and you don't meet those standards."

"Could you like…explain?" Gary drones.

Peter throws up his hands for dramatic effect. "Where shall I begin? Well, for one thing, you have more upper-body muscle than is physically possible, and I don't think that you could expand to twice your size when flexing them – you'd better take up that minor discrepancy with your author. You'd better find a more adept author, too; she can't spell to save her neck, and her grammar is nonexistent. Then there's the matter of your grooming habits. Narnians don't keep their hair curled and at mid-neck length – your character claims to be "Narnian born" – and they most _certainly_ don't use Surfer-Dood Hair Gel. Shall I continue?"

But at this point the Stu is beyond coherent speech. What comes out _sounds_ rather like _Gabble blee bloo blarrgh, _which Peter took to mean "yes."

"Very well, I shall continue. No decent Narnian would ever approach Queen Susan, seize her by her waist, call her "hawt" and give her a "electric" kiss. Nor would he call her "babe," or "doll," nor would he wink during the feasts and speeches, nor would he corner her in the garden and smother her with burning kisses, nor would he cause her to blush with his compliments on her skin, nor would he defeat both her brothers in swordplay, nor would he defeat her in archery, nor would he wake at night to find her screaming from a nightmare and rush to comfort her with – well, we'll skip that part – nor would he ride a centaur much less put a halter and saddle on it (haven't you _read_ the books?), nor would he have a super mind-reading ability, nor would he have piercing blue eyes in one chapter, quivering green in the next (how do eye colors quiver?), and sparkling amethyst in another part, nor would he approach a talking fox with a pat on the head, nor would he keep talking birds in cages – _cages!_ – nor would he marry Queen Susan and become High King along with me, nor would he – well, I think you get the idea. One thing I will say for you: your character fits the story – but the story is trash, not Narnia. If your author wishes to write this … this … refuse, she may, but under her own idea and _not_ in the Lewis Canon. If she presses the issue, let us say she will be facing serious lawsuits, and _you _– who most certainly could _not_ defeat me – will be facing death. Now, good sir, pick your jaw up off the ground and leave."

The Gary Stu fumbles with his jaw. "But I gabble gabble blah the Queen Susan blah blah blah…"

"Isn't that sad…" Peter mocks. He turns away from the 'Stu to the 'Sam. "Well, now, what to do about the other one?"

"Peter, help the man recover his strong, manly jawline – it really isn't that "hawt" dragging on the ground – and I'll find ol' Mart's file."

"Alright, Ed," Peter says. He is escorting a stunned and – if possible – even more witless Gary Stu Hastily whirling about – and knocking poor Gary over in the process, whose jaw is still sagging piteously – he sees Edmund holding a file. His face is a bright shade of purple and from his mouth emits a hideous roar. Marty simply stares mournfully.

Peter dashes over to Ed. "Edmund—I say—what happened?"

"I think he read more of my file," the Sam says mournfully. "I knew I hadn't a chance…"

"Why he—of all the—why I ought to—great SCOT—Aslan's mane, the blighter—fetch Rhindon—" Edmund splutters. "SOMEONE GET ME THIS AUTHOR!!"

"What author?" Peter asks bewilderedly.

"The author of that—that—_creature's_—story!" Edmund rages, pointing at Marty, whose eyes fill with a thousand tears and who takes out a Narnian flute and attempts to play it. Unfortunately, it is a very poor attempt, and Gary begins to howl with agony at the sound, his jaw still sagging and his eyes now dilated. Peter and Edmund cringe.

Peter regains speech first after the song ends and Marty begins crying again. "Who's the—shut _up_, will you?!" Marty shuts up. "Who is the author?"

"Well…it says here **FontinaHighQueenofNarniaandPeterHighKingofNarniaForeverXOXOXOXO… **oh, how shall I keep from retching?" Edmund queries sarcastically.

Peter nods in agreement. "I'm beginning to have a bad feeling about this author already."

"You should. Look who she claims that beastly thing is!"

Peter, reading a few lines aloud, begins: "_Martin Samuels Tumnus – TUMNUS?! – ran through the forest of Narnia, tree roots tripping him as he ran he could barely breathe. His father had come home stoned teh day before and he had got his usual beeting. 'I cant tak anymore!' he moaned, falling to his knees on the cold hard earth he began to cry. 'Dont cry,' a sweet voice said. He lookd and there was the most beautiful person he had seen! 'I'm Queen Lucy,' she said sweetly. Then she gasped. 'You look like my old freind Tumnus.' 'My father is Tumnus,' he said. 'But he has no mind anymore, he gets drunk and beats me.' 'Oh no,' said the sweet Queen. _–Good grief, does she know any other descriptive term other than "sweet"?! – _'But I resolv to cast him off forever. My name no longer is Tumnus. I am only Martin Samuels, please tell no one I am a Tumnus.' The sweet Queen smiled sweetly, and her sweetness touched his bruised and scarred heart. 'Marty, your secret is safe with me rest assured of that I am the most confidenshal of confidenses.' Marty smiled for he knew he had found a freind. But he realised he wanted this Queen for more than just a friend, and leaning towards her – _GOOD GRIEF!! MY SISTER DOES NOT WALK AROUND SMILING AND TALKING SWEETLY AND DO – THAT – WITH PATHETIC ANGSTY EXCUSES FOR FAUNS AND BY THE WAY TUMNUS DOES NOT HAVE A SON!""

"That's not all," Edmund shudders. "Did you see this other story she wrote him into?"

"Do I want to?" Peter quavers.

"You've got to if we're going to give this guy a proper sentence!" Edmund insists.

"Alright, alright," Peter mumbles, "if only to satisfy your sense of justice." He reads aloud again: "_One day Tumnus was walking along smiling at the birds and the flowers and the sunny skies above the forests in Narnia birds were flying happily. It was a beautiful day. Suddenly, out leapt a young girl, at whose presence the day dimmed Tumnus couldn't helped thinking. 'Oh, Tumnus, I'm glad you came!' 'So am I, my sweet,' _– COUGH! – _he replied, sweeping her into his arms and pressing his lips against hers in a sweet _– GAG – _embrace. He couldn't help thinking how preshus she was while she was when she stiffened suddenly. He set her down. 'I am sorry, I shouldnt have—' 'No, dont be sorry, your hot' _- ?! – _and she kissed him again just as Peter and Edmund came crashing through the woods. Lucy stiffend but Peter snapped 'Tumnus, leave her alone' 'But – ' 'you dont diserve her, now get away from my sister!' 'But – ' then Edmund drew out a club and began to beat Tumnus he could do nothing but sob from the pane but the human wouldnt stop. Finally they left, Peter and Edmund in stern triumf, Lucy weeping for her beluvd, Tumnus bruised and bleeding with tears running down his battered face and onto his bloody chest. _…and the rest is a whole lot of rot about how Tumnus has a secret night visit with my sister – for which I should cut off your miserable head, wretch! – and then is banished. Trying to find love with marriage to someone else, he has one son – Marty Sam here, of all the disgusting things – but alas, he dies, a broken spirit who in his grief beats his only son. That, I take it, is the prequel to Marty's story, but I guess she pays him for both."

"No, I don't deserve pay," Marty speaks. "I simply work for the sake of – _sigh _– the lovely Queen Lucy the Valiant, who is to me the most sweet –"

"OH, DON'T SAY IT!" Peter hollers. "Ed, read him the rest, I think I'll be sick if I have to look at him any more."

"Gladly," Edmund says with a grim smile. "Mr. Sam, you are denied access to the Lewis canon on the basis of several crimes. First, inflicting a stupid, simpering spirit on a most valiant and virtuous of women. Secondly, impersonating a canonical character – namely, Mr. Tumnus – and causing him to do all sorts of uncanonical actions – namely, have a romantic relationship with said valiant and virtuous woman. Thirdly, you have infiltrated the realm of Narnia with bad spelling, horribly constructed sentences, and anti-canonical words – namely, calling someone "hot." And to all these I may add infinite other crimes: filling our realm with X-rated scenes, distorting canonical characters (including myself), over-use of one descriptive term ("sweet"), possessing a bad authoress, stretching the span of the Golden Age beyond what is contained in the Canon, and playing a Narnian flute in a public place with neither skill nor license. All these and more I hold against you, therefore, you _will not_ enter Narnia."

"It's so fun to get him going…" Peter muses to Gary Stu, whose eyes are perpetually rolling in their sockets.

"Now," Edmund continues sternly, "I trust you know what to do. Get yourself over by your friend: you are both equally undeserving and unqualified. Garrison Stuart, recover your jaw and your wits – if you ever had such a thing – and get yourself home. Martin Samuels, the same goes for you (minus the jaw part). And if I ever hear from either you or your authoresses again, the consequences will be dire unless there is significant improvement. Am I understood?"

Garrison is still breathing raggedly, his gelled to perfection curls finally falling out, his jaw still hanging and his pupils dilated. Martin is—you guessed it—weeping.

"Cease your bawling and ragged gasping and do as you're told!" Edmund commands sharply.

"Don't worry, Ed," Peter says loudly, "if they won't cooperate I still have Rhindon - _and_ the title Wolfsbane."

Miraculously, the two discern that Rhindon must be some sort of weapon. Or they pick up on the 'Wolf' part of Peter's "title" (they probably don't know what that means) and assume it's some sort of monstrous guard-animal. (The latter is more likely.) Garrison snaps to attention, his jaw tight and eyes wide with fear. Martin begins to wonder if Queen Lucy is worth all that, since her brothers are clearly not moved by his pitiable state. Needless to say, their exit is somewhat hurried.

"By the Lion's Mane," Peter huffs, "all that work has made me feel the need for a double-shot of espresso."

"You know," Edmund shudders, "I'm not so sure I want to do a comparison-study on this experience. I've found it more than just a little painful."

"Hmm," Peter muses thoughtfully. "I wonder if Starbucks delivers?"

_TEN FREAKIN' PAGES, Y'ALL! TEN PAGES OF DESCRIPTIFYING! But I finished and now you can all be proud. :D _


End file.
